


Freedom of a Different Kind

by cagethesongbird



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Established Relationship, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagethesongbird/pseuds/cagethesongbird
Summary: After some of Elliot's insecurities bubble to the surface, Mr. Robot finds himself awake, looking at this new life Elliot has made for himself.It's not what he's expecting.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Freedom of a Different Kind

**Author's Note:**

> very interesting to think how mr. robot might react if elliot found himself in an age-play relationship... i had a good time with this one. plays into my other works but can very easily be read alone!
> 
> enjoy! <3

After they brush their teeth and wash their hands, Tyrell humming absently the whole time. After Elliot gets the snots wiped from his face and giggles over the feel of the froggy-shaped washcloth. After bath time and pajamas and a diaper, when they’re tucked in and the light has been turned out. Only then does Elliot have something to say.

“Tyrell,” he says, and Tyrell opens his eyes to the darkness. He had been almost asleep, as it was late, and he was comfortable. Obviously, Elliot wasn’t as much.

Tyrell wraps his arms around Elliot, as he often did, and is gratified when Elliot immediately softens and cuddles up to him. It hadn’t always been like that – touches used to be far and few in between. They’re learning, together. Everything is alright.

On Tyrell’s end, at least. Elliot is very obviously still very Little, but whatever he had to say was important enough for him to struggle to pull out his grown-up words.

“Yes, baby?” Tyrell whispers, struggling not to yawn. He really was tired.

Elliot sniffles, like he’s holding back tears. Tyrell stiffens – he’s suddenly very awake. He never knew what had the ability to get Elliot worked up, though many of the triggers followed similar themes: abandonment, lack of love, humiliation. He wasn’t going to let Elliot fall asleep having to be unsure of any of it.

He pulls Elliot a little closer, fumbling with him in the dark. Sometimes, like this, with Elliot breathing softly against his chest, Tyrell will imagine himself as a new father – with Elliot, of course, being the newborn frazzled to have life thrust upon him.

He guessed that wasn’t too far off from the truth, really. He liked to think he had a little bit of expertise under his belt now, though.

Elliot sniffles hard and moves in bed, rustling the sheets. His voice is a soft lisp, but clear and hard to misunderstand when he asks: “Do you love me?”

Tyrell doesn’t hesitate. He’s used to this, though the question will never cease to strike him as absurd.

“Of course, I do, Elliot,” he says, sincere. “If I haven’t proved it by now, I’m doing a pretty poor job of it, don’t you think?”

He laughs at himself, softly. Elliot does not. Elliot is taking the whole thing more seriously than a funeral procession.

“I love you like – like I don’t even know, Elliot. A whole lot.” He couldn’t put together a fitting metaphor at the moment; he was too tired. “You know that.”

Elliot is quiet for a long time. He’s a heavy, evenly breathing weight on his chest, and Tyrell settles, thinking the reassurance has been made. He starts to nod off, slowly, before Elliot is piping up again.

“Tyrell?” His voice is so soft; Tyrell can’t possibly be mad that he’s been woken.

“Yes, baby?”

Another sniffle. This was getting to him, for whatever reason. “Why?”

Tyrell is tempted to say why, what?, but neither of them have the patience for that. He lifts Elliot so he’s laying with his head squarely on his chest, right over his heartbeat, and rubs his back.

Elliot goes as limp as a ragdoll, trusting. He’d been crying silently, without Tyrell realizing it, and Tyrell feels his heart break all over again.

Elliot had been through so much, and even now, he just wants to be sure that he’s loved. It’s enough to get through to even the most stone-cold bastard, how much this baby just needs someone to hold him.

Tyrell realizes that he’s glad to be here. Even if it had been someone else, Tyrell just hopes Elliot would always end up cared for – really cared for, not whatever half-assed, barely-there parenting he had dealt with before. He deserved that, and so much more.

“I love you because you saved me, Elliot,” Tyrell says. “You saved the world – but also, you saved me. I’ve never been happier or more satisfied with my life when I’m with you. Big or Little. Understand? There’s never been any question in how much I love you.” His voice is firm, inarguable. “I love you so much, baby. I’m sorry if that’s ever been unclear.”

Elliot nods into his chest, and Tyrell relaxes, resting a hand on Elliot’s back. Message received.

“Tyrell?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you, too.”

“I know it, baby.”

There’s the sound of Elliot hunting for his pacifier in the covers, finding it, and popping it in his mouth. Tyrell hikes the blankets up around them when Elliot returns to his chest, settling in for the night.

Tyrell sleeps soundly – Elliot, not so much. He lies awake, feeling hollow. In previous years, this is the kind of feeling that would nudge him into the arms of morphine. And it’s no one’s fault. He loves Tyrell, Tyrell loves him. It’s his screwy brain that can’t get with the program.

He drifts off, eventually, with the steady drum of Tyrell's heartbeat under his ear. His sleep is light and unrestful.

Waking up in Elliot’s body after so many months of dormancy is disorienting, to say the least.

Mr. Robot jolts awake, breathing heavy. Fight or flight is blinking in his head like a neon sign, and his fists are clenched.

For a solid ten seconds, he thinks they’re in prison, or detoxing on the floor of their old Manhattan apartment. They’re either dead, or dying, in his mind. His heart is hammering against Elliot’s chest, and he doesn’t dare breathe, waiting for a sign on what to do.

But then the curtains rustle. The wine-colored curtains, velvety and expensive, rustle in the corner window. A cool breeze is sweeping across the apartment; the new, classy one Elliot shared with Tyrell Wellick.

Tyrell Wellick, who somehow was not a corporate douche anymore. Who loved and cared for Elliot in a way Mr. Robot once only dreamed possible.

 _Oh,_ he thinks. _Oh, yeah. I remember._

Mr. Robot breathes. It comes out gaspy, though – hot and upset. Elliot’s body reacts with tears, of course, and Mr. Robot is too confused to stop it. Tyrell is beside him in an instant, and before he can react, has Elliot’s body cradled against his chest, bouncing him in a gentle rhythm.

He does this swiftly, unperturbed, as if it’s a daily occurrence. Normal and routine. Mr. Robot’s head is spinning, he can’t fucking understand why he’s being held like an infant, why Elliot’s allowing it, until –

_Oh. They do that… thing, remember?_

Oh. The pieces all suddenly click, and Mr. Robot relaxes. He relaxes against Tyrell, even though it’s weird as all fucking hell, even though makes him feel defenseless and weak, because there is no danger. He, and Elliot, and even Tyrell for that matter, are completely safe.

The events of the past year are over – whiterose is dead, they’re alive. The Dark Army has been quiet. Even Leon had had nothing to report, lately.

Everything is fine.

Bullshit! Nothing’s fine, or has ever been completely fine, in Elliot’s entire life. And yet here Mr. Robot was, being held like a baby by Tyrell fucking Wellick.

Tyrell is mumbling something, and it occurs to Mr. Robot to tune in.

“Bad dream?” Tyrell is asking softly, and in a moment of total dissociation, Mr. Robot watches him lift Elliot’s body into his arms as he gets out of bed. Elliot seems to be in there, thankfully – he’s got his face buried in Tyrell’s shoulder the moment he realizes he’s being moved.

Elliot doesn’t reply to Tyrell, busy assessing Mr. Robot’s unexpected presence. Mr. Robot can feel him being just as confused as he is.

_What the fuck? Why are you here?_

**_Aren’t you a little young to be using the f-word, kiddo?_ **

As he watches Tyrell pat Elliot’s back, soothing him exactly like you would a young, upset pre-schooler, he gets a very distinct image of Elliot giving him the finger.

**_Alright, sorry. Couldn’t resist._ **

_Seriously, why are you here?_ Elliot’s voice is annoyed – he’s tired, doesn’t want to figure this out. Mr. Robot gets the image of him fumbling with a pacifier and blinks twice, trying not to gawk too hard. He understands what’s happening, but that doesn’t make it any less strange to witness.

 _Fuck you,_ Elliot thinks. Mr. Robot pinches his nose in sudden pain – Elliot’s pissed, and Robot can feel it. He’s seeing red, quite literally.

_I’m not gonna be embarrassed because of you. I **like** Tyrell taking care of me, and if you’re going to be an asshole, you can fuck right back into my head or whatever circle of hell you came from. Okay? Fuck you. _

Robot thinks the final f-bomb was probably for emphasis. He notices, belatedly, that he’s back in his own body – the distorted, not-quite projection of Edward Alderson called “Mr. Robot”. He adjusts his glasses.

**_I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean it like that, okay? Let’s start over. I know you missed me!_ **

Contemplative silence for a moment, and then, _Fine. Why are you here?_

**_No clue. Did you have a nightmare, or something?_ **

The question makes Elliot uncomfortable, and Mr. Robot feels it like a tightly wound knot in the center of his stomach.

_Dunno. Everything’s fine out here, for once._

**_Well, then. Send me back, or whatever?_ **

Silence.

**_You do know how to do that, right?_ **

Silence.

**_Well, I guess I'll take a seat, then._**

Mr. Robot settles into the loveseat at the far end of the master bedroom – talk about _money!_ He had no earthly clue what Tyrell was doing now, since Evil Corp had gone up in smoke. Whatever it was paid bank, though. The master bedroom was like three rooms within itself – containing the King-sized bed, a sitting area including the walk-in closet, and ample space for Elliot’s terminal setup.

Setup for which Robot notices has been upgraded a few times – they made good money, with Allsafe, but nothing like this. Elliot’s current setup looks state-of-the-art.

 _Jealous?_ is Elliot’s only thought.

Mr. Robot just shakes his head, not hiding his smile. Finally, Elliot wasn’t off on one crusade or another! Even if it was somewhat… alternative, he’d obviously settled down with Tyrell. Even just in their bedroom, the permanency is all over – in the shared clothes in the closet, in the framed photos of them wrapped around each other stuck on every other surface.

Fucking FINALLY!

It was weird, alright, it was weird as hell. Mr. Robot really tries not to watch Tyrell change Elliot’s _diaper_ like it was nothing, but of course he watches like a fucking moth to flame. Elliot stubbornly refuses to be embarrassed, and Tyrell is oblivious to the whole thing, singing a Swedish lullaby in a low, tone-deaf voice.

Even Mr. Robot had to admit Tyrell’s voice, as clunky as it may have been, had a soothing quality. Elliot is starting to fall asleep again, it’s clear, but he watches Mr. Robot out of the corner of his mind’s eye. Seeing what he’s going to do next.

Tyrell draws the covers up around Elliot and rolls off the bed, the light flickering on in the bathroom as he takes care of his own midnight business. He leaves the door open – listening for Elliot, should he need him, Mr. Robot realizes. It’s so strangely _parental,_ like he’s afraid Elliot might roll off the bed, or otherwise injure himself, in the two seconds it takes him to piss.

_Yeah, he… he takes it kinda serious,_ Elliot sounds half-asleep, but is still bothering to follow Mr. Robot around. He’s fading fast, will be sound asleep soon. He’s got his pacifier stuck in his mouth, watching lazily after Tyrell’s silhouette as it washes its hands.

Shit. He _is_ pretty cute. And more relaxed than he had been in years and years – maybe ever, if they're being honest. 

**_Are you okay, kiddo?_** Mr. Robot asks suddenly. Elliot seems taken aback by the question, and turns his head to where Mr. Robot is sitting before he answers. It occurs to Mr. Robot that they haven’t actually _looked_ at each other this whole time, just talking back and forth, as if it were a cellphone conversation.

_Yeah. I’m... happy, I think. Happier, at least._

**_Okay._** What else can he ask for? It’s leaps and bounds healthier than he was this time last year, being intimidated by Vera and mourning for Shayla.

It’s weird, yeah. But nothing about the life Elliot led had ever been normal. If this is the trade off, Mr. Robot is on board.

Elliot is asleep when Mr. Robot looks over at him again. Tyrell shuts off the light, and Mr. Robot notices the Nemo-shaped night light for the first time. It’s sweet, what they have. Even cynical bastard like him could appreciate that.

Tyrell’s hold is so protective around Elliot, Mr. Robot can’t help but feel happy for the kid. This is everything he’s ever wanted, in one sweet Swedish package.

He throws a glance back at the sleeping couple before he leaves, to take his residency in Elliot's head. Whatever battle brought him here is clearly being resolved. He won’t disturb their rest.


End file.
